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Although this document appears in the files of other nations, it seems best to treat it separately, since it presents some problems. It is really not too difficult to understand why this Safeguard has been overlooked for so long and, hence, was never included in Milton's State Letters. First, the most striking feature of the Holstein Safeguard is that in the 1652 version it is verbally identical to the Oldenburg Safeguard, and a major portion of the 1653 version is copied, word for word, from the earlier document. The second reason can be best illustrated by citing Masson's confusion. He notes the copy in Thurloe, I, 385-86 (4 below) and correctly names the addressee as "Lord Frederick, heir of Norway" (IV, 424), but he erroneously identifies the document as the Oldenburg Safeguard, calling it "out of place" chronologically in Thurloe. His error probably arises from the fact that among the many titles that Frederick laid claim to was one as "comes in Oldenburgh and Delmenhorst." I am in no position to explain this coincidence at the moment, but I think it safe to say that when coupled with the similarity of language, it helps explain why three of the four copies available are incorrectly identified as the Oldenburg Safeguard. Works rejects Masson's suggestion twice (XIII, 633, and XVIII, 638). Prose makes no mention of it.

##1. Sp 103/3, Treaty Papers, Denmark, ff. 52-53, Latin, unsigned, undated, endorsed "Safe Guard for ye Duke of Holstein." This copy has portions underlined with marginal substitutions. As changed, it is verbally identical to the Oldenburg Safeguard, save for three or four brief phrases. Of particular interest is the fact that it was at some point in time used as a working paper to prepare a copy of the other document. For example, "et Consiliarum Hermannum M." appears in the margin, to be inserted after "per Deputatum suum." This copy was transcribed after February 11, 1652, when the final wording for the Oldenburg document was approved by the Council of State and the phrases "praesentes Literas patentas inspecturis" inserted. It is in the Denmark file because the Duke of Holstein, as "Haeres Norwegiae," was a vassal of the King of Denmark.

##2. SP 103/24, Treaty Papers, German States, ff. 221-22, Latin, unsigned, undated (Oldenburg 3). This copy, which is part of the Oldenburg file, is verbally identical to 1 above, disregarding the marginal changes in the

latter. It is treated, it appears, as a companion to Universis et Singulis (Oldenburg 1), as the two have the same coversheet, marked "Holsteen Oldenburgh." The folder in which the two appear has pencil entries on the cover made at a much more recent date. The entry incorrectly identifies this document as the Oldenburg Safeguard.

##3. Bodleian Library, Nalson MS, XVIII, 172, Latin, dated December 1, 1653, endorsed "The Parliament's Declaration in regard to ye trafficking of ye subjects of Oldenburgh [sic]." This copy is verbally identical to 1 & 2 above, except for about ten lines of script. After the dissolution of the Rump in April, 1653, the Duke apparently requested a renewal of the agreement and, it seems, received this one from the Barebones Parliament. Oldenburg waited a month or two more and so could request a renewal from the Protectorate in March, 1654 (see Oldenburg 20-22). I suppose Holstein had to come back and start all over again.

##4. Thurloe, I, 385-86, unsigned, undated, incorrectly identified as "Letters of safe-conduct from the parliament to count Oldenburgh." Though not dated, the copy in Thurloe and the original in the Tanner MS (V, 192) both appear among papers of July and August, 1653. If one disregards the change in name, fully 90% of the text duplicates the wording of Universis et Singulis. It is close verbally to 3 above, for which it was probably a working paper.

Comment: There is no question that these are Milton's words, the intriguing question is how much was he involved. Did he confer with the envoy from the Duke of Holstein, and when? Unfortunately, the Order Books of the Council of State make no reference to the Holstein Safeguard. Why is there a copy among the 1652 Oldenburg papers? Was he consulted in the preparation of the 1653 document?

On the evidence of the two copies alone (1 & 2 above) it is impossible to say which of the Safeguards came first, for each seems to have been used as a working paper for the other. Both copies of the Holstein document contain wording added to Oldenburg's by the Council of State on February 11, 1652, and we know from Mylius' Tagebuch that Milton went through a number of drafts before arriving at the final wording. On the other hand, a copy of the Holstein document was used by a scribe to prepare a copy of Oldenburg's. It is possible that they were composed simultaneously, since they seem to be so closely associated in the files. In SP 103/24, the two have the same cover sheet; and in Nalson, XVIII, copy 3 is cheek by jowl to "Bee it Knowne." A possible explanation, one which may account in part for the protracted negotiations with Mylius, is that the Council of State in 1651-52 was taking its time to evolve acceptable wording for a general Safeguard, one which would serve as a model for all such agreements. Milton's Universis et Singulis, with only name changes, may well be found in a number of the archives of the small German states of the 17th Century.

There is no evidence that Milton was consulted in the preparation of the 1653 document (3 & 4); but as in the case of the 1654 Oldenburg Safeguard, it seems reasonable that Thurloe would employ the man who was responsible for the composition of the agreement it was to be modeled on.

The searching out of these papers took approximately three weeks work in the Public Record Office. If these are the fruits of such small

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effort, what may be expected of more extensive research! This is not to imply that one can hope to come upon some rich lode of papers lying, unnoticed for centuries, in a long neglected attic somewhere. This is too much to expect; some De Doctrina Christiana may indeed be stuffed away in the corner of a manorial garret, but such discoveries come centuries apart. The reality is that such a search involves making one's way through many musty pages of unrewarding manuscript to find a few isolated documents (I read in eager anticipation the four hundred-odd pages of the minutes of the Council of State in 1658, to find only a few stray references of interest).

This report does have certain promising implications for Miltonists, however. First, there are surely more documents somewhere and, further, each new discovery reveals more about the life of the poet during those shadowy years. If nothing else, one must emerge from such a search with the conviction that at the moment we have only a superficial understanding of Milton's public service and that any effort to assess the scope of his duties must not be limited to a consideration solely of those papers of which he retained copies. He surely did more than that collection reveals.

Such research can lead to new insights into his poetry, for ultimately, of course, it is the art that counts, not whether he wrote this letter or that. We find value in the chronicle of that experience if we feel that the events which those letters record had an impact on the poet's imagination. In recent years, scholars have scoured Milton's library for keys to his meaning, but might we not find as much wealth in the passage of his days? He was part of a revolution, a seeding-time of our era, two decades of tumult and bitter trial—a part of it, first as a concerned observer, later as a willing and active worker, and finally as a blinded symbol of the cause, struggling through his Defensios to stay in the mainstream of events, but forced by his infirmity to view the scene through his mind's eye. But he knew it all—the stilted facade of protocol, the subtle give and take of guarded debate, the careful wording and artful veiling of purpose, the uncertain ceremony of treaty and alliance, and finally the sudden sword of war.

Paradise Lost took form in those years; Milton began his vast project during the death throes of the English Republic, as his dream of liberty faded. It is a time that cannot be dismissed. Scholars, in the final analysis, are but acolytes in the ceremony of creation, and as we watch those rites in our passion to understand, we dare not blink, lest we miss some fleeting gesture that shapes a part of the final achievement. We cannot discard any of it, for the poet's vision draws substance from all his days, from a book read, a melody heard, a painting seen, a death mourned, a dream denied—or from an obscure letter written.